


resolving tensions

by Birdschach



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: F/M, FE Kink Meme, Incest, Sibling Incest, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10952685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdschach/pseuds/Birdschach
Summary: Another argument between Fernand and Clive lead to high tensions at the Southern Outpost. Tensions which, once Fernand storms out, Clair is eager to resolve.





	resolving tensions

**Author's Note:**

> Well. My first fic for Echoes is incest, what a surprise. Honestly I wanted to write this before the game was even out, and now here it is. It's a fill for the Fire Emblem Kink Meme 2 on Tumblr!

“If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times; I do not approve of this gambit to gain the approval of the gutterborn  _ filth _ you've allowed to join this movement,” Fernand says, gesturing widely within the Southern Outpost’s War Room. “And sending the  _ Backwater Noble _ to go and fetch your baseborn hope? It's a ridiculous notion. We should instead focus on taking Desaix down ourselves!”

“Would you truly cast aside what strength we've mustered for nothing more than your pride as a noble?” Clive asks, shaking his head. “Our forces would be wildly insufficient without the common folk who have joined us. And they've proven their worth time and time again!”

Clair stands witness, but holds her tongue. The Pegasus Knight is well aware that adding her own opinion, which matches Clive's to the letter, would do nothing but anger Fernand. She can only observe, as yet another instance of the same argument comes to another pointless end, with neither Fernand not Clive making any progress in swaying the other.

“I cannot believe what I'm hearing! You dare to say these commoners have 'proven their worth?’ That they are  _ worthy _ to fight alongside  _ us? _ ” Fernand exclaims, incredulous. “I'm retiring for the night. I hope that on our return to the hideout that you regain your senses.”

And with a quick turn, Fernand marches out of the room, his face still twisted with rage, leaving the siblings alone. Clive slumps back, falling into the chair behind him. He gazes up, as if consulting Mila herself on the subject of what to do with his unruly comrade.

“Don't worry about Fernand, brother. He'll come around,” Clair says, smiling down at her brother as she closes the distance between them. Clive had nearly forgotten she was there, in his argument with Fernand.. “At least, I would hope his prejudices don't run so deeply that he can't see reason.”

“Thank you, Clair. I would hope so too, though… his attitude is not all that vexes me,” the leader of the Deliverance says. “Things have escalated so quickly. Desaix has Mathilda, and it's hard not to worry for her. And on top of all that, I find it incredibly difficult to speak to the common folk that have joined us. I would hope that a former hero like Mycen would be better suited for that role.”

“It's an excellent idea, brother!” Clair says, and her hand comes to rest on top of his, a warm and comforting touch. “And I imagine the mantle of command is quite tiring! Please, allow me to help you relax.”

“Fine, fine, Clair. It  _ would _ do me a world of good to relax a bit,” the knight says, straightening up. He feels his sister's deft fingers, working loose the straps that bind his armor to him. In a moment, the heavy plate is on the ground, and Clair is working his shirt loose as well. It comes off, over his shoulders, and joins his armor on the floor. Yet the knight feels perfectly at ease, even as his sister’s warm hands light upon his shoulders.

Her touch is light, at first, and he marvels at how smooth her hands are, how  _ soft _ , despite her training with a lance day in and day out. Then, she grips him tightly, her fingers pressing into the tension deeply seated within his muscles. As she works, Clive can’t help a soft groan, as the stress of command, of Fernand, of the whole damn war, seems to fade, if only a little. He closes his eyes, and begins taking deep, steady breaths. Clair begins humming, a slow, gentle tune, as she massages him, and before he knows it, Clive is drifting off into a light sleep.

Of course, the leader of the Deliverance has no way of knowing his sister’s thoughts. Neither can he see the way she bites her lip, or that she only hums to keep the sounds that threaten to escape her at bay. Seeing her brother’s back, toned as it is, was enough to plant a seed of warmth within the pit of Clair’s stomach. A seed that grows as she feels the strength beneath her fingers, as he moans softly in his light sleep, and as she lets her mind wander. In spite of herself, Clair thinks of Mathilda. It is common knowledge that she is her brother’s lover, and Clair has long been jealous of the time they spend together. For how long she’s known just how deep that jealousy runs would be hard to say, and even harder to admit, but the noblewoman continues massaging her brother, squeezing her thighs together as she does.

It isn’t much, but the pressure her motions cause is enough to bring her slight pleasure, and she finds it even harder to keep quiet as she works. Without noticing, she begins to lean forward, as her hands drift lower and lower. Eventually, her hands are on his hips, and she is leaning so far that her chest presses against his back. Even through the fabric of her tunic, the soft warmth of Clair’s breasts is enough to stir Clive. It is a slow waking, however, and while the knight is still half asleep, his dreams linger.

“C-Clair…“ he murmurs, and she feels a chill run down her spine. She glances over his shoulder, surprised to see her brother’s excitement straining against his pants. Could he be dreaming of her? A dream that causes him to be just as aroused as she is? It is hard for Clair not to get hopeful, as she thinks of what that might mean. Perhaps her admiration, her  _ desires _ that she’s always tried to hide are not as unwarranted as they might seem. 

“Yes, Clive?” she answers, keeping her voice gentle so as not to wake him. It might be a long shot, expecting her voice to draw more out of him, but she is willing to try.

“I… love you, sister…” he says, and Clair finds herself pushing more of her weight against him. WIthout warning, he snaps awake completely, finding her hands on his hips, her chest pushing against him, and isn’t quite sure of what to think. “W-what? What’s going o-”

He starts, but as he turns his head, eager to gaze back at his sister and see what she’s doing,  she lowers her head, and her lips are against his as soon as he’s turned far enough.

For her first kiss, Clair is surprisingly passionate. She taps into her desires, her lusts for her brother, to all the times she’s found herself alone and burning up in her bed, wishing he were there… to all the times her gaze lingers just a little too long on his face, or on his body… and she waits.

For a moment, Clive is still. He doesn’t pull back from her, but neither does he return her kiss. He should rebuff her. He should pull away, he should tell her why this cannot be, why the two of them musn’t do this. But… he has found it harder and harder to ignore his sister’s charms of late. And now that her hands are on him, her lips pressing against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth, all Clive can think of is her face, her soft hair, her body. Thoughts of the Deliverance, of Mathilda and of Fernand all fade away. He breaks, his hand reaching back, gently grabbing the back of her neck and pulling her into the kiss. She moans softly, and the knight feels himself twitch in anticipation.

They break their kiss, both short of breath, and Clive rises to his feet. Neither of them speak, for a moment, as they each look the other up and down. 

“Brother… I want you,” Clair says, breaking the silence. She's practically  _ trembling  _ as she admits to her indecent desires. “Please, make love to me!”

“Sister, I… I want you, as well. But… I would never want you to be a replacement for Mathilda.”

I'm your little sister, Clive. I know I could never be some mere replacement in your eyes,” Clair says, seating herself on the War Room’s table. She removes her helm, then grabs the bottom of her tunic, and lifts it up, off her shoulders and over her head, revealing her slender body. “If we keep tarrying like this, we're never going to get anywhere.”

With a shake of her head, her blonde hair falls loose, cascading down across her shoulders. Clad only in her leggings, she spreads her legs, and Clive finds his eyes cannot settle on a single place to gawk.

One second, he is eyeing her perky breasts, ending in rosy-pink nipples, which already stand at-attention. The next, her shapely legs, still covered by her black leggings. 

“You're right, little sister,” he says, taking a shaky step toward her. After the first, the second, and third, all come much more easily. “This will be your first time, yes?”

“Indeed. But… I can think of no man more worthy than you, Clive. And no cause more worthy than helping you move past some of the stress you face!” Clair says, “And… well, this is something of a dream come true for me, truth be told.”

Without another word, Clive is upon her. He can hold back no longer, and he steps in between her legs, pushing his hips against her, both feeling the heat of the other through their clothes. They grind against each other, Clair's legs wrapping around Clive, Clive leaning down, kissing her once more, as the siblings give in to their passions.

It isn't long before mere grinding is nowhere near enough. Clive wants - no,  _ needs _ \- more from his sister. His hands slip down, grabbing at her leggings and tearing at the crotch. She gasps, as the fabric  _ rips _ , exposing the sky-blue of her panties. And those are pushed aside immediately, though Clive cannot help but marvel at how  _ soaked _ they are already.

Next, he pulls back, gazing down at his sister's folds as he frees his cock. She looks so irresistible, her hair neatly trimmed, the lips of her cunt so inviting as she spreads her legs even further. He presses the tip of his cock against her, and pauses.

“You're… you're ready, yes, Clair? This is something we can never take back.”

“I would never want to take it back,” she answers, rocking her hips forward, and pressing herself on to him. In spite of her confidence, Clair isn't quite ready for how  _ big _ he is. Her fingers are nothing in comparison, and she gasps as she feels him  _ stretching _ her. But with how forward she is, and how long it has been, Clive cannot hold back.

He tries to be gentle, but thrusts into her with a bit too much force. It has been quite some time since he's had to be careful, after all, and Clair whimpers in pain. But, beneath the pain, there is an undeniable  _ pleasure,  _ a pleasure that feels so right, even though many would be quick to say it is wrong.

Clair focuses on that, letting Clive fall into a rhythm as her body adjusts, and before long the pain is a minimum, and the pleasure takes the lead. She slips her hands to his hips, feeling the  _ power  _ he puts into each thrust, and she throws her head back, moaning, whimpering, pleading for more.

Clive loses himself easily in her, trying not to make comparisons, unable to push the thought that this is his  _ little sister _ out of his mind, yet somehow more thrilled by the thought. She is  _ his, _ and his alone, and his rhythm grows frantic, desperate. Lost in his thoughts, he hardly realizes how close he is growing. 

Even as Clair reaches her limit first, her legs clenching along with the walls of her cunt, trapping him as her body  _ squeezes _ him, as her head tips back and she cries out his name, Clive stands at the precipice of his climax. Just before he thrusts for the last time, he realizes he should have pulled out. With his sister's legs locked around his back, her grip tight on his hips, he knows he cannot.

With a groan, he finishes. Sheathed deep within her, his seed spills forth, filling his sister with the heat of his climax. 

“Ah, Clair!” he cries out, as he slumps forward. The two fall on to the table, a mess of limbs, as they pant, catching their breath. They make no move to separate, and their hands find each other, fingers twining together. Clive gazes at Clair, and Clair at Clive, each losing themselves in the other's eyes; so very similar to their own.

“I… do feel more relaxed,” Clive admits, finally.

“You do? Oh I'm overjoyed!” Clair exclaims. “Brother, please come visit me any time you need. I'm… I'm always open to you.”

“I will,” he promises, though he knows he shouldn’t. What is he going to do, once they free Mathilda? Or if their carelessness bears fruit? It's hard to worry too much about either, as Clair shifts beneath him, as her lips find his, and Clive feels himself growing hard once more.


End file.
